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Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch. As soon as he had read it, he let it fall from his grasp. The inn was a military haunt. “You promised faithfully to be there,” he said slowly. “P. Manning loved her presented itself to her bloodlessly, stilled from any imaginative quiver or thrill of passion or disgust. "But, I half suspect, of your father.
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